Entering New Territory
by Ruperv
Summary: When Jess sneaks Rob into her room for nocturnal activities... Missing part from Missing You. Heh. Warning: Lemon. Not for the faint-hearted!
1. Getting Started

"Jess. Are you absolutely sure?"

Rob whispered into my ear as I led him to my bedroom at the top floor of the house. I swear, if he asks me that again…

I ignore him and continue sneaking up the stairs, watching out for the creaky steps – in vain though, because Rob makes them creak, anyway. Luckily, no one wakes up. I open the door to my room and close it behind us.

"Jess."

That's it. I turn around to face him, sharpish, and my heart does that flip-flop thing inside my chest like it does every time I see him. My heartbeat increases perceptibly. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. My breathing is erratic. In anticipation of what was about to happen.

Honestly, if the boy couldn't see I'm warm for his form, I don't know what he's been doing all these years I've been trying to convince him otherwise.

"Rob." I start, as I take a step towards him.

"Stop right there, Mastriani. I'm warning you!" he growled in a warning tone, taking a step back never-the-less.

I roll my eyes and keep walking towards him. I'd finally, finally got a response from Rob other than the one he normally gave me when I declared my undying love for him. Something that wasn't along the lines of "you're crazy, you know that, Mastriani?" I wasn't letting him off the hook that easy tonight.

He backs up till he's touching the wall and stays there.

I walk to him till our bodies are almost touching. Almost, but not quite. I'm trying not to breathe – rather, I _can't_. It's suddenly become physically impossible for me to do so – not wanting to dispel the tension that had built up because of our physical proximity. He smells like he always does. Of Coast deodorant soap and something more. The Essence of Rob, if you will.

My eyes are raking everything in. His jaw, that was clenching and unclenching as he looked at me. I liked to think it was because of the effort it took him to control his unbridled passion for me.

His mussed up, quite sexily might I add, hair which I'm assuming got that way because he'd been pining for me, unable to contain his (completely requited) love for me.

Or maybe he was regretting agreeing to marry me. Well. That's just too bad. I'm not letting go of him!

Anyway. So I'm nose-to-nose with the hottest guy on the planet. The guy who's been rocking my socks for the past 3 years. And what do I do in such a situation?

That's right. I start laughing.

Why, you ask? Maybe because I've chosen this precise moment, the moment I've been dreaming about since practically the first time I laid my eyes on Rob, to go abso-fucking-lutely crazy.

His jaw slackens. He probably can't believe his fiancée's – fiancée! – such a nutcase.

He's giving me his no-nonsense look right now.

"Mastriani. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I say, sobering up," It's just that I never thought you'd be one to be scared of a puny little girl like me."

"I'm not scared," he said, indignantly," I just want you to think a while before we – you know – so that you're sure." He sighs and looks up at the ceiling, muttering about the injustice of it all. The corners of his eyes crinkle cutely like they do when he's concentrating. Then he looks at me again and says, "I don't want to rush you. And if you don't back away now, that is exactly what I'll end up doing. So take a moment and think it through, okay?"

I'm smiling when he starts his impassioned speech. The smile turns into a full blown Cheshire-cat grin by the time he gets to the end. The thing is, speeches like this don't come easily to him. He's not used to doing things patiently. He does "rush" through things. And the fact that he was – however, reluctantly – ready to take it slow, meant a lot coming from him.

So I opened my mouth to assure him that I was sure; that I _wanted_ him to rush me.

But he sensed what I was going to do and spoke before I could.

"No, Jessica. I'm serious. This is a big thing. Stop and think."

He'd used my full name. Boy, was I in trouble.

Nothing fazes me, however.

"I know you are. And I _have _thought about it. A lot. Even before having this conversation." He raised his eyebrows at this. I ignore him. "And I know what I'm doing. So, please. Can we just get on with it?"

"But Jess, what abou-"

I, however, was in no mood for more talk. Time was a-wastin'. So I did what any red-blooded-teenage-girl-at-the-peak-of-her-hormonal-craziness would do in the circumstances.

I kissed him.

A/N: Okay, stick with me. Update coming real soon.


	2. Getting On With It

**Sorry! I could give a list of excuses – including the school musical (Joseph and His Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat) in which I played the part of Mrs. Potiphar, the evil seductress (don't ask), the U-19 Girls Football (Soccer) Nationals and the (very welcome) attention of a certain someone whom I hadn't even met until 4 months ago! – but that would just be pointless. Instead, I apologize for the appallingly long wait and hope I live up to the (unintended) hype I seem to have created.**

**Here goes nothing!**

I kissed him.

Rob groans his frustration and I can't help but wind my arms around his neck and into his thick hair. This seemed to be the right thing to do, judging by the way he grabs my waist and pulls me even closer to him. One hand stays, playing with the hem of my tank top, his fingers inching up under it to graze my stomach. The other moves up and down my back, eliciting irrepressible moans of pleasure from, I assume, me.

I'm not too sure, you see. Being this close to Rob is like having an out-of-body experience. The close contact hampers my mental abilities. Not that I have many to begin with, sparing the one which makes me a musical genius and the freaky hit-by-lightning-finds-missing-people thing, but still.

I had hardly gotten over this particular thrill when Rob growled deep in his throat and swivelled us around so that my back was to the wall and Rob is pushing me up against it.

His head dips and his lips graze my collarbone, his hands now resting low on my hips. My hands go to his hair of their own accord and I throw my head back…and hit it on the wall. But we both are too lost to notice.

He eyes level with me as he rests his forehead against mine.

"We can't do this. I don't have any condoms," he said in a breathy whisper.

"That's easily solved. I have a pack," in a not so un-breathy whisper of my own.

He pulls back and looks at me with a raised eyebrow.

"You do."

I, however, am not in the mood for lengthy discourses on the fact that I had condoms with me. We'd wasted enough time, as it is.

"Now is not the time, Rob," I say and pull his head down so I can kiss him. He resists at first. Drastic times call for drastic measures…

I slip my hands under his shirt and take it off his torso…and explore his washboard-esque stomach. I stroke the trail of hair down his middle and as my hands dip lower and dip into the waistband of his jeans, he sucks in a shocked breath.

He tries, and succeeds, to gain control of the situation by kissing me long and hard and sweet. His hands snake up my sides, bringing my top up with them. He moves back, takes it off hurriedly and flings it across the room.

My breathing is heavy, my chest expanding and stomach caving in with every short intake of breath. He swears.

I lick my suddenly dry lips and taste him. My heart is in a nervous flutter and I can't seem to breathe. His dark gaze is still fixated with my chest. His roving eyes are leaving a blazing trail wherever they roam their fiery existence. A furnace of agonizingly slow, painfully hot desire is burning in my nether regions. Oh my. I'm afraid I'll swoon.

Yeah. I tend to sound like a heroine in a historical romance when I'm standing in front of the guy I love wearing nothing but boxer-shorts. And I mean _nothing_ but boxer-shorts.

Next thing I know, he's reached out and claimed his stake on my right breast. I gasp audibly at the sensation and wonder how it is that a simple touch can cause a multitude of reactions from me. I mean, my breath is shorter than ever; my heart is beating harder every second, as if I'm running a marathon or something, and there is _definitely_ no doubt of my being turned on by him…case in point, the sever nipple action that was happening because of his merciless palming and thumbing.

Not that I'm complaining.

Then, apparently deciding I wasn't tortured enough, Rob goes down and places hot, open-mouthed kisses all over them. I clutch his hair so fiercely, I'm afraid it'll come out.

And then he sucked.

Oh. My. _God_. If his hair hadn't come out already, it had to have now!

He's nuzzling my stomach, now. Trailing very light, feather-soft, _freaking_ torturous kisses down my middle and stopping only at the waistband of my boxers. My hands are entangled in his hair and my head is thrown back, my eyes closed in ecstasy.

Then he puts his mouth down there. Right through the boxers I'm wearing.

Sweet _Jesus_!

My eyes fly open at the shock of it. My jaw threatens to come unhinged as Rob goes down on his knees, grabs my thighs from behind and sets to work. His hard, callused hands massage the back of my thighs, all the while imitating the movements of his glorious, glorious mouth. Pressing when he was sucking, rubbing up and down when he was licking, drawing circles when he was kissing.

There's a burst of light behind my glazed eyes and I slump against the wall, tired and, paradoxically, energized, now that the furnace had been extinguished.

My legs are limp. My eyes are half-closed like I'm high on coke. Only Rob is much more potent than any drug. If it wasn't for him holding me up against the wall, which felt _quite_ good by-the-way, I would probably have slid down and just lain there on the floor in a puddle at his feet.

"Whoa," I say as Rob comes up and just stands there holding me close to him.

He lets out a breathy chuckle and pulls back to look at me. I smile up at him and go up onto my toes to have better access to his mouth.

We kiss. Chastely at first. But then I notice his hands clutching my, well, _posterior,_ and the furnace starts burning all over again. My hands inch towards his fly buttons and I've only just managed to open two when Rob restrains me.

"We can still stop if you want."

I merely looked at him. With the signature raised-eyebrow, of course.

And clever boy that he is, he refrains from any further discussion on the afore-mentioned topic.

Instead he tries to thwart my actions my slipping his hands into the sides of boxers, bringing them down to my feet, causing goose bumps to erupt everywhere his mechanic-y hands touch me, then lifting my feet one-by-one to remove the boxers and flinging the absolute last article of clothing covering my body across the room where my tank-top now resides.

Meanwhile, my fingers are faltering at Rob's fly. As was his plan. I, however, am not one to admit defeat that easily!

I hastily open the last one and begin to tug them down over his _very_ visible need. Only to be stopped by Rob who picks me up off the ground and kisses me hard on the mouth. I wrap my legs around his waist…and before I know what's happening, I'm lying down on the bed and he's kneeling between my legs.

"Where are those condoms?"

"In the drawer, " I'm about to say, but then deciding to save him the trouble, I stretch my hand out behind me and open the nightstand drawer to take the pack out myself…and unintentionally give him a full-on erotic display of my front.

He gulps audibly and can't seem to keep his hands off my body, alternatively stroking my thighs and roaming the expanse of my stomach…fingers reaching up to massage my breasts until I shudder with pleasure.

I hand over the pack to Rob. Rob with his heavy-lidded eyes and slack mouth, which I'm assuming is so because he's enjoying this as much as I am, opens the pack and practically rips the foil off of one of the packets. He then stands up removes his jeans with dexterity and causes my chest to constrict. At least that's what it feels like when I can't take in a single breath. Because there's 6 feet of unadulterated hotness standing in front of me. In fully naked glory. And the fact that he stands proud (In more ways than one. Ha!), albeit a little sheepish and anxious, only adds to the breathlessness of my being.

Suddenly feeling a lot gutsier than I am in real life, I crook a finger at him and his eyes widen at this beckoning of mine. He comes, nevertheless.

He kneels between my legs once again and bends down to kiss me a painfully slow kiss, one which I'm obliged to speed up. I was just about to pull him down on me when he pulled back and said, "You are sure, aren't you?"

"I've never been surer."

He smiled and kissed me. An open-mouthed one. With tongue. Hot or what!

Then he slowly and imperceptibly (Well. Besides that pinprick of initial pain, which I forgot almost immediately as the pleasure overtook the discomfort.), moved inside of me. He kept kissing me till he was buried to the hilt, so to speak, and then looked at me questioningly. I just shook my head in response to his non-verbal "Am I hurting you?" and arched my back to encourage him.

He eased out and we fell into a rhythm, rocking back and forth, all the while kissing like crazy and touching each other everywhere.

A couple of intense moments and a collective burst of light later, we both collapse onto the bed together, breathing heavy and throats dry. I inch closer to him and rest my head on his chest. His one arm is wrapped around me and the other is folded behind his head.

"That was the best time I've ever spent with you, Rob Wilkins. Now, why didn't we do that before?"

Rob laughed. And even though there was no sound, I knew because his chest was shaking underneath my cheek. I smile contentedly.

"Jess?"

"Mmm?" I say, suddenly feeling very sleepy in our post-coital calm.

"I'm curious. Where'd you get the condoms?"

**Good, bad or downright ugly? **

**The next chapter's the last one. It's called Pillow Talk. Just some fluff.**


	3. Pillow Talk

"I'm curious. Where'd you get the condoms?"

"Well. When I opened my bag to unpack, they were sitting right on top of my t-shirts," I say, feeling sleepy.

"Ruth must've slipped them in when I wasn't looking."

He turns his head to look at me quizzically.

"Yeah, but that still doesn't explain how she knew this was going to happen."

I shrugged. Pretty difficult once you consider the fact that I'm positively pooped. And that his hand is currently drawing lazy circles on my bare shoulder. Distracting.

"I don't know," I say and then remember what Ruth had said just before I was going to leave NY. About me never coming back. How does she _know_ these things?

Because obviously I'm transferring to Indiana State. Now that I'm being offered a job as a music instructor. Besides. I never liked Julliard.

Of course, the fact that a certain Mr. Wilkins would be near-by had a little to do with that decision, too.

"But, I promise to hound her for an answer when I meet her," I say and snuggle up closer to Rob. He turns to his side and engulfs me in his arms. I sigh.

And we fall to a contented and peaceful sleep.

**And thus finishes my first ever fan-fic. Like it? Hate it? Review it!**


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